The Museum of Curiosity
by JuniperGentle
Summary: The museum was brand new. In fact, it had only been open for a week, and this was the first time you had been able to visit. But within its walls, you find that things are not exactly as they seem. There's a host of strange characters to meet and stranger artifacts to discover, and what exactly is hiding in the Vaults? Second person POV, a bit experimental.


_Disclaimer: I don't own any museums, nor do I own any part of the Beyblade franchise or the BBC radio production that this fic shares a name with (and nothing else)._

_A/N – hoping that this is not a complete failure – I've never written in second-person before!_

_Special Note: In the Rules and Guidelines section of this site, under Entries Not Allowed is "Any form of interactive entry: choose your adventure, **second person/you based**, Q&As, and etc." This fic IS based on the second-person point of view, but I believe it does not violate the terms of this as the story is in no way "interactive". It is merely a plot device to allow the reader to feel more involved, rather than permitting them to drive the story, which is what the term "interactive" suggests._

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**The Museum of Curiosity**

The museum had been open for a week, but you hadn't had a chance to go until now. Built of white stone, with large plate glass windows to let in the light, it looked almost as modern as the building that had stood there many years previously. You could just about remember the strange day when it had been destroyed, but other than that you hadn't paid much attention to this side of town. Until now.

"Hello!" The pretty brunette behind the desk smiles at you. "Ticket for one?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"The tour's starting in just a minute if you want to follow them – just down the corridor there to your right."

"Okay, thank you."

Taking the ticket stub from the young woman, you follow her directions and find a small group of people milling around outside a pair of large glass doors. The person in charge seems to be a diminutive redhead with large glasses and an officious expression who appears to be herding the group towards the doors.

"Come along, come along, this way. The tour will start in the Ancient Weapons room, if you'll just follow me..."

The room that she leads you into is enormous considering the number of things in it. As far as you can see, there's only four cabinets in there, which is a bit of a disappointment. And even then, only one of them actually holds a weapon – a beautiful stone katana with a cracked hilt and several chips hacked out of the sides of the blade. It must have been decorative or ceremonial only, as you can't imagine why anyone would want to go into battle with a blade that would shatter the moment it hit anything.

The tour guide is saying something, but you're not very interested, because your attention has just been caught by something glittering in the third cabinet. It turns out to be a small pendant – maybe it once concealed a supply of poison, or a tiny knife for a lady to use. The chain is broken, but every single link is there, though not connected. The pendant also appeared to have a glass window in it once, which has shattered. There's a space that looks like it's for a picture behind where the glass used to be. Next to it in the second cabinet is a gorgeously carved wooden box, which also seems to have an indent of similar size and shape to that in the pendant.

"If you will take a look here, you will see one of the greatest treasures of this museum," the tour guide says, and you look up and realise that everyone else is clustered around the fourth cabinet. "This cloak pin is one-of-a-kind, and it was donated by the family of one of our patrons due to its rarity and value. It is said that it has been in their family for more than seven hundred years, but they have been kind enough to lend it to us. In the right light, the flames can look like they're really moving. Yes, if you come and stand just here..."

The small crowd shifts and you find yourself pushed to the edge of it. As you do, you see something very interesting down at the far end of the room – four tall, imposing suits of armour, beautifully made and all incredibly different. A couple of gentlemen who don't seem to be part of the tour group are standing in front of the two in the middle, the red one and the blue-grey one.

"Can't believe McGregor got away with wearing that in public," the taller, blonde one murmurs to the other, who laughs and steps closer to the suit, obscuring it from your view. Slightly annoyed, you wait until the two wander away to examine the rows of bamboo swords on the walls – kendo staffs, if your knowledge of martial arts is correct – before stepping closer to the suits.

All of them are remarkable, and all of them seem to come from different periods in time. The golden one, for example, looks very much like a suit of Roman armour, right down to the leather underskirt, though the helmet doesn't suit it at all. There is a large shield propped up against the left leg, but again, it isn't Roman in style. But it's the blue-grey one that you're most interested in.

It's the tallest of the suits by about a head, and the metal has a curious sheen to it that doesn't quite look right. The accompanying helmet is especially magnificent, looking very similar to that of a medieval knight. But what it's doing next to a Roman centurion's armour and what looks remarkably like a matador's outfit, you have no idea.

Suddenly it occurs to you that the room behind you is suspiciously quiet, and you turn. It isn't just quiet; it's completely empty. Whilst you've been happily examining the beautiful suits of armour, the tour has left without you.

Oh well. It can't be too far ahead, and there's only one door out of this room other than the one you came in through, so it'll be easy enough to follow them.

You push through the big door open and step into a dim room lit by tiny bulbs scattered through the cabinets and displays. A cursory glance shows that each of the displays holds only rocks, and also that the tour group is not in here either. Obviously you spent far longer with the armour than you thought. Oh well. Might as well wander around for a bit and enjoy yourself. Who needs tours, anyway?

The Geology section, as you assume it is, isn't very interesting even by the standards of other geology rooms. The rocks seem to be just that – no solidified lava, no gemstones, just chunks of dull stone with labels on saying things like _Found in China, 2001,_ or _Donated from private collection. _Honestly. Who collects _rocks?_ If they were pretty or interesting to look at, maybe you could understand it a bit better, but these are all just ordinary rocks. The only thing special about them seems to be that each one comes from a different place, though they are by no means exotic places; Russia, China, England, America, Italy, Germany, Spain, Japan... nothing marked Mozambique or Timbuktu or Darkest Peru or anything like that. How dull.

You are about to move on to the next door when something flickers in the corner of your eye. Startled, you turn, but you can't see anything except the boring old rocks around the room. Deciding that it was just a trick of the light, you turn back to the door. As you do, though, that same flicker materialises in the corner of your eye, and this time it stays. Very slowly, you turn round, to find yourself staring straight at a huge slab of stone hanging on the wall. There are hundreds of tiny scratches in the stone, almost like writing, but you can't read it.

The shimmer is gone, because you're now looking straight at the rock, but you have no doubt that it was what was causing the flickering. It seems to be vibrating very, very slightly, causing a soft humming that, now you have moved closer, is definitely audible. Carefully, you stretch out a hand towards the rock, ignoring the sign that says _Please Do Not Touch The Exhibits_.

The rock _is _vibrating, soft pulses running through it like electrical waves. But there's nothing nearby to cause the vibrations, not unless it's some sort of delayed alarm caused by breaking the electrical field. Yes, that must be it. You quickly remove your hand, just in case you accidentally set anything off.

Just next to the strange vibrating rock is another, almost identical. It is the same size, same colour, even about the same shape. The difference, however, is that this one doesn't have the strange symbols all over it, and it is also perfectly still. There is no shimmer in the corner of your eye from this one, nor is there any indication of the vibrations. Strange.

There are no signs close to the two slabs, so you can't find out anything more about the strange vibrations. What a useless geology room, you think. All the boring rocks have labels on them that are way too detailed, but the only interesting rocks have nothing!

At that instant, an ear-splitting alarm crashes through the speakers high on the walls, wailing and echoing around the room. Immediately, two thick panes of what looks like bullet-proof glass slide into place in front of the two slabs of rock, followed seconds later by several layers of steel grating. Another steel barrier rolls down in front of both doors, trapping you in the room.

The siren of the alarm changes to a voice, and with your hands pressed over your ears you can just about make out the words.

"_Emergency. Serious containment breach in Vault 31. Evacuate immediately. Emergency. Serious containment breach in Vault 31. Evacuate immediately. Emer..."_

The alarm shuts off halfway through the word and, after a long moment, the steel and glass barriers retreat. You cautiously take your hands away from your ears, just as the tannoy pings and a soft voice announces "We are sorry for the disturbance. That was a planned emergency drill alarm. Thank you for your co-operation and we apologise once more for any alarm we may have caused."

You sigh in relief. At least it wasn't caused by you touching that strange rock.

Just then, the door into the next room opens and a small man with brown hair and large glasses strolls in, a laptop tucked under one arm. He looks very surprised to see you there.

"Hello!" he exclaims. "I'm very sorry, did you get caught in here by the alarm?" You nod, and he looks very excited. "Did the barriers come down okay? I meant to get in here to check before the alarm turned them off, but I had to fix the vault up again, so..."

"Yes, they came down," you say, smiling at how excited he is. Obviously he must be some sort of security person come to check the alarms that day. "A big glass one and some steel ones in front of the rocks over there, and an even bigger steel one over both doors."

He sighs in relief. "Oh, brilliant! It's all working perfectly." He blinks. "Um... why are you here on your own?"

You blush, having hoped that he wouldn't pick up on that. "I was with the tour group but I started looking at the armour in that room so I got left behind."

"Oh," he says, looking slightly troubled. Then his expression clears. "It's alright, I can take you to where they are. It's not far away. Sorry that you got trapped in here, though – are you sure you're alright?"

You're not sure whether to be charmed or vaguely annoyed by his persistence, and decide to go for charmed. "Yeah, I'm fine. If I could just get back to the tour group, it'd be great."

He picks up the hint, thankfully. "Come on, this way. I just need to lock down the vault and then go and tell the director that everything's in full working order, and then I can take you. Is that okay?"

You get a funny feeling that you're not supposed to see whatever it is that's in the vault, especially considering the message that you overheard on the alarm. If it's not in the public view, maybe you'll never get to see it again, whatever it is.

"Of course!" you say, smiling cheerfully. If you can sneak into areas you're not normally allowed to go, maybe you'll find the really interesting stuff!

Your new guide leads the way out of the room and turns left, heading into the depths of the museum. At every door the two of you pass, he stops and presses a series of buttons to raise the metal shutters that have obviously slid down during the alarm.

"All of these have to be manually restored?" you ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

"Oh yes," he answers as he releases another. "Otherwise there's a chance that it could get hold of... never mind. If the central system was breached, then nothing would be safe if it wasn't all manual. It's safer this way, even though it takes forever to reset."

What was this _it_ he was talking about? Museums only held really dangerous ancient objects in the movies, surely? Or maybe it was something really, really valuable or unique that had to be kept away from any form of contaminant – though why there would need to be a full emergency shut-down is beyond you.

"This way!" the security man calls, beckoning you down yet another corridor. This one has a series of what look like blast-doors along it that have slid down in the wake of the alarm, all of them made of steel at least six inches thick. Whatever this place is holding, it's pretty dangerous. Could it be some kind of left-over radiation from a horrible bomb-test? That's the only thing you can think of that could possibly need such security.

"Excellent," your guide mutters as he releases the last door and you find yourself looking into a room that is almost pitch-black. There are only four light-sources in the room, tiny spheres of colour that are concentrated around a pedestal in the centre of the room. You can't see what the pedestal holds, but the four coloured lights are illuminating a series of thick chains that are wrapped over and around it, anchored to the ceiling and the floor. The light refracts from the metal of the chains strangely, green, purple, sky-blue and fire-red all mingling into flashes of brilliance that cut through the otherwise all-encompassing darkness.

"Have the main lights broken in that room or something?" you ask. It's a pretty reasonable thing to ask, all things considered, but the security man shakes his head.

"Normal lights don't work in there," he sighs. "It's only because _they're_ guarding it that we can see anything at all in there, but it's safer in there under the director's eyes than anywhere else in the world. Oh, and talking of the director – I need to report back to him. Let's go."

You follow him back out, noticing that he's setting three of the blast-doors back down to protect the strange, black-filled room and its stranger contents. For some reason, it gives you some measure of comfort that whatever is in that room is safely locked so far away from everything else. Your guide leads the way back to the main museum corridors, moving at a surprisingly fast pace. It isn't long at all before you find yourself facing yet another set of doors.

They open into a room that is again different to the first two rooms of the proper museum. This one is almost silent, containing only you, the security man and what looks like a curator who is adjusting one of the exhibits. It's a sort of silence that you've heard before, but you can't think where. Maybe some kind of famous cathedral, with the whispering echoes that keep the place just this side of perfect stillness, yet somehow augment the lack of any other sound. It's amazingly peaceful, standing in the doorway and staring around the golden-lit room in mingled confusion and amazement, and you forget that there's anyone else there with you.

Of course, you can't just soak up the atmosphere forever, particularly as your eyes are adjusting to the golden lights, allowing you to see the far wall. It is completely covered by a vast mural that makes you wonder for a moment if the room opens onto some outside space where trees blaze with lightning, where thunderheads gather to battle each other, and fire dances over water through the downfall.

High in the painted sky, a huge beast rears back its lordly head, flaming wings stretching to their utmost as they drip feathers to the ground, charring the earth black where they land. Facing it, an equally large beast flares wings of darkness across the blood-red sun as its green eyes sparkle with malevolence, three twisting clouds of blackness gathering behind it. On the burning ground below, a blue-scaled, snake-like creature twists towards the battle, mouth open in a ferocious snarl aimed at the dark-winged creature. Brilliant white teeth and claws glitter dangerously through the smoke of battle and every hackle is raised. Other creatures are springing out of the painting with powerful muscles bunching beneath smooth coats. Enormous beasts from every corner of the world roar and howl at each other, pushing against the others in a tumbling, confusing mass of fur and feathers and shells and scales that is at once wonderful and terrible beyond imagining. Fire and lightning crackle across their coats, reaching out to engulf the others, who answer with ghostly tidal waves cascading down, or towers of glittering ice, or wild gusts of wind that whip the flames into uncontrollable fury. It is a great, titanic, elemental battle, streaming across a gold-lit museum wall in a silence that deafens.

You hear the security man sigh from beside you, and follow his gaze to the faintly-lit exhibit near to the centre of the room. It doesn't look like much. In fact, it's just a single small cabinet with glass sides, which doesn't even seem to contain anything interesting.

In the middle, carefully folded, is a small pile of white fabric, tattered and torn along the edges as if it has been put through a shredder. On top of it are other, smaller pieces of cloth, apparently the parts that have been ripped away from the main piece. What a strange thing to have in a museum! You might expect broken pottery or stuff like that, but torn cloth?

Talking of broken pottery, there are fragments of _something_ in little piles around the white material. They're colour co-ordinated; one pile is mostly blue and silver, and is set very close to the fabric. It's not actually pottery, though – it looks more like tiny shards of metal, so maybe this was some kind of special weapon? Not that you can tell what it might have been, as there's no pictures and it really is shattered into thousands of pieces. What a shame.

A little further away is another pile of similar pieces, this one mostly red. The third mound is different again, being mostly green and purple, with a small spring coiled on top. The fourth and fifth piles are mostly whitish-grey, though these shards are slightly larger than the ones in the other two piles. These ones are definitely metal, with brilliant edges that look bitterly sharp. You try to imagine what it would look like if they were all put back together, but the curving shape of most of the larger parts has you baffled. For all that you can see, it looks like an incredibly dangerous child's toy.

"We think that there's some vital parts missing," the security man says quietly from beside you. "They just won't go back together."

Whilst confused by the use of _we – _since when did security men have anything to do with the exhibits, even in a relatively small museum like this one? - it's good to know that the people in charge of this museum did actually try to repair the weapon, whatever it is. "Where did they come from?"

"These?" He looks slightly surprised. "They were donated by the people who run this museum. It took a long time to persuade some of them, I must admit." He points to a case on the far side of the room, where a strange sort of helmet is visible. It has some kind of white head-band that would run around the back of the head, and then a small, red, glass panel that looks like it would fall in front of the left eye. "That also came from the private collection of the director. He was very loath to part with it, I must admit, but when he saw how we had set this room out he didn't mind so much."

Oh. Maybe he wasn't just a security man, then? But before you can get any more confused, your guide gestures to another case, to the right of the one you are in front of. "Those, on the other hand, were found on the site when we were excavating it. They're the only three we've ever found."

The three things he is talking about are feathers, soft, black feathers that lie on the red velvet lining of the case. But they aren't birds' feathers – they're much too big, bigger than most _birds_ you've ever seen. They are streamlined and magnificent at nearly five and a half feet long, clearly the flight feathers from a pair of truly gargantuan wings. But they couldn't possibly be real. The only bird you can think of with feathers that long is something like a peacock or an ostrich - and that's not even the flight feathers.

"They were the pinions, we think," the security man says quietly. "But we'll never see it again, and I'm quite thankful for that. I wouldn't want to have to fight that again."

It's right then that you realise where you've heard the sort of stillness in this room before. It's the sort of silence that drifts in clouds across churchyards, peace mingled with sorrow, contentment with a life full-lived and pain for those left behind.

It's a memorial for the fallen of war.

You drag your attention away from the strange, huge feathers and look to the left. There's a similar case on that side, though this one isn't as long, and it holds something far more ordinary than the feathers; a beautiful violin, with a twist of turquoise threads tied around the neck. "Was this excavated too?"

It's a stupid question, and you know it the second the words leave your mouth. Who would _excavate_ a _violin_?

The security man – if that really is his job – just smiles. "No, that was a donation," he says. "And-" You give him a strange look as he stops and stares at something over your shoulder. "Oh dear."

You turn to see the curator, standing on a small step-ladder, busily scrubbing at something on the wall. It's a long list of names and dates, and from what you can see the curator is attempting to change the information written right at the top.

"He's really not going to be happy, you know," your guide says to the other man, and you can tell this is a conversation he has had many times. The red-haired curator just laughs, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous light.

"But it's true!" he says, turning round on his step-ladder. "If the first one was a win, and the second one a loss, then a draw with the person who beat _him_ means that I should put it higher up the chart."

"That's not how it works, and you know it."

The curator laughs again and turns back to the wall, where he begins to write something very neatly in the space he has just scrubbed clean.

"So you're changing history to suit what you think?" the security man asks.

"Of course! That's the fun of working here!"

Your guide shakes his head in despair and moves away, beckoning you to follow. "He's hopeless," he says, and you hear the half-laugh, half-frustration in his voice. "We shouldn't have let him be in charge of the battle records. Never mind that, though – just up the stairs here and we'll be at the director's office."

When you look back just to see the mural one more time, the curator catches your eye and winks, raising a hand to flutter his fingers at you in farewell. Then he turns back to the list he is editing and uncaps his pen again.

The director's office is _not_ "just up the stairs". In fact, it's up three flights of stairs and along a corridor lined with hundreds of paintings. Most of them are portraits, but some are decidedly non-human, like the ones that flank the door marked "Director" - one is of a strange, red bird-of-paradise with its wings spread wide to the borders of the frame, the other a wolf that is curled up in a nest of snow, its painfully blue eyes glaring out of the painting over the furry tail covering its nose.

As beautiful as they are, the security man barely spares them a glances as he knocks on the door, three sharp beats that echo down the corridor.

"Come in!" calls a stern voice from inside, and your companion pushes the door open to reveal a large office with two desks. Bookcases line two walls, and the third is made up of a series of huge panes of glass, lighting the room to brilliance. Standing in front of this vast window is a tall man, who you assume is the director, wearing a smart black suit that looks very expensive. He is facing away from the door, hand clasped behind his back. To your surprise, a small tabby cat is curled up at his feet, and its purr is vibrating around the room.

"Alarm check completed," your guide says happily. "All the barriers came down, all the defences went up, and the vaults and the Rock Room were completely isolated. As far as I can tell, even if it had outside help, there's no way that it could fully break out."

"Good," the man says, and turns. "Is everything reset now?"

"Yes. Everything's safely locked down, and all the guards are in place."

The director simply nods, then gestures at you. "Who is this?"

Your guide's eyes widen. "Oh, just someone who got caught in the Rock Room when the barriers went up and got separated from the tour group. We just detoured here first before joining back up with them..."

"You took a visitor into the vaults?" the director asks sternly, and you feel yourself flush in a combination of embarrassment and shame as his eyes rake over your now rather dusty coat. "How many times do I have to tell you that's against policy?"

"Sorry," the security man mutters. "It just seemed easier to go from the rock room to the vaults and then here rather than detouring to the tour room." He pauses, then blushes a bit. "Um, you may want to check the CCTV in the Past Battles Room."

The director's violet eyes narrow. "Again? He's either getting more careless or more reckless by the day. Thank you."

It is clear that you are dismissed.

"Come on," the security man says softly. "I'll take you back to the main tour group. They'll probably be in the Archives by now. Let's go."

"Don't bother," the director says suddenly, walking over to you. He's not quite as tall as you thought – his greyish hair is sticking up as if he's been running his fingers through it, and it's added a couple of inches to his height. "You've got work to finish – I'm perfectly capable of showing the way to the Archives."

Your former guide gives you a quick look, and at your shrug he nods and turns to leave.

"If you take anyone else into that vault without authorisation, I'll have to take action!" the director calls after him, and the security man winces.

"I know! I'm sorry!" Then he is out of sight, vanishing through the door with surprising speed.

The director sighs and glances at you. "Follow me," he orders, and you do it automatically. There is something about him which is almost impossible to resist.

You take one final look over your shoulder as you are led out of the office once again, and the sun that pours in through the vast windows glints on a curious paperweight sitting on one side of the big desk. It's a stand with three prongs standing up in a triangle, on which is perched a -

Well, you're not quite sure what it is. It looks like an inverted pyramid, but there's no corners on the base; it's almost perfectly circular except for some strange carved designs around the rim. Must be some sort of curio from a distant land, which would make sense for a director of a museum. But you get the feeling that you've seen something like that almost cone-shaped thing before, maybe on TV somewhere?

It doesn't matter now; the director has pulled the door shut behind you and you can no longer see the curious artefact. He doesn't bother to see if you are following, walking off down the corridor towards a different set of stairs to the ones you came in by. He also doesn't bother to say anything to you as you catch up to him, which seems slightly strange after the chatter of the security man. In fact, the first time that he says anything is when he opens a set of double doors and declares "Here you are."

He has led you to a large room that is full of people, clothes and noise. A couple wander past you, the man wearing a bowler hat and a set of strange purple goggles, and a very lurid Hawaiian shirt over the top of his normal clothes. The girl next to him is laughing, wearing a set of orange dungarees and a pair of deep purple gloves that end halfway up her upper arms, also all on top of normal clothes.

"This is crazy!" she exclaims. "I can't believe I'm actually wearing these!"

Beside you, the director actually winces. You, on the other hand, are fascinated. "You have a dressing-up room?"

The director's shrug is very uncomfortable. "In a way. I'd much rather we didn't have it. It's just... _embarrassing._"

"No, it's not!" you protest. "Kids love dressing up – it's a really good way to show them what the clothes from the past looked like!"

"Yes, but maybe not with _those."_ The director is looking in the direction of another small group, one of whom is wearing a jumper that is far too big for him, with strange metal brackets attached to the shoulders, whilst his friend is laughing at their third companion's costume, a long cloak which is trailing on the floor as he stalks around with his nose in the air. The effect is further ruined by the pair of sharp-edged, deep red sunglasses he is wearing perched on his head.

"They're just having fun," you begin, but suddenly realise that you are speaking to thin air. The director has completely disappeared. How rude.

You take the opportunity to look around the big room. Set in the wall at one end of the room is a large floor-to-ceiling mirror. A couple of giggling girls are looking at themselves in it, taking photos on their phones of themselves wearing what look like mock-ups of the suits of armour you saw in the very first room. Around the other three walls are various racks of clothes in a remarkable array of colours and styles, most of which have at least one person standing in front of them, trying on the costumes. The clothes don't seem to be from any particular period of time, except for the strange armour that the two girls are wearing, and there is an abundance of accessories from a mask that seems to be made of gold with red-paned slits in it for vision to a red headscarf and a boom-box that sits on its own on a table.

Whilst very tempted to put on one of the costumes – possibly that set of black robes with the cloak and hood – there are already a lot of people in here and more are trying to get through the door. On the far side of the room, you spot the young woman who had been taking your tour group gathering people together, and quickly make your way over, finally managing to rejoin your tour.

"Is that everyone?" the tour guide asks, eyes scanning over the small group. "Let's go then."

She takes you through a side door that was hidden behind yet another stand of clothes, and you find yourself once again surrounded by – mostly – quiet. This room is smaller than the others, but the walls are lined with row upon row of... well, you're not quite sure.

"This is one of the only collections of its type in the world," the tour guide is saying as she leads the group into the middle of the room. "We believe that the only other one is in a museum in Russia, who have graciously allowed us to borrow some of their exhibits for our opening season, in exchange for some rare blades and other weapons which were discovered here not long before we opened. If you look here, you can see how the styles have changed over the decades..."

She begins to point to each of the strange articles on the wall, but your attention has been caught by the display on the far side of the room. In it are four very strange items – a basket ball, a baseball, a tennis racquet and, strangest of all, an American football. What on earth could these be doing here? They couldn't be important enough to be in a museum, surely?

The case next to that one is even more interesting. In this one are four guns, set out with a small plaque next to each of them. There are a couple of pistols, a long sniper rifle and then an absolutely enormous thing that looks like some kind of rocket-launcher. There's a pad underneath it as though it's supposed to be carried on the shoulder, but who could possibly pick up something so large? And what is it doing in the same case as the two powerful but apparently unidentified pistols and a sniper rifle?

"And these examples are unique to our museum." It's the tour guide – apparently you have been staring at the four guns for longer than you thought, and she is pointing at them as the rest of the group gathers around. "The use of these types is now banned in almost every country in the world, due to the newest regulations, and so these came from private collections. They are fascinating specimens, with a huge amount of power, but they are very difficult to use without proper training and so they are now illegal.

"That's the end of the tour; if you'd like to have another look at anything please feel free to wander around. Otherwise, I hope you've enjoyed your day today and that we'll see you again soon."

You walk out with the rest of the tour group, past the two enormous guards who are keeping an eye on everyone from the exit door. One of them has thin white lines traced over one side of his face – maybe some sort of tattoo? - and is wearing a long red coat. He offers you a smile as you leave, before turning back to his conversation with his equally tall, blonde-haired counterpart.

Once outside, back in the main hall, the rest of the group are quietly thanking the tour guide and dissipating towards the café on the far side of the hall or out of the main doors. Many of them look rather thoughtful.

Well, that was certainly an interesting museum, nothing like any other one you've ever been in. Maybe you should come back some time and have a closer look at things – or maybe actually finish the tour.

There's a small gift shop tucked into the corner of the hall, with the usual bright, touristy items for sale. You decide to wander in anyway; sometimes you can find good birthday presents in there, and it's not as if you have anything else planned for today.

Two cashiers are manning the tills, one rather taller than the other. Both of them have black hair, and they are quietly chatting to each other, as the only customer in there is you.

"Have you heard from my sister and that punk of a blonde recently?" The shorter one asks, folding his arms and leaning back against the till. "We never get any letters at our place."

The taller one, whose dark hair is bound back in a long white cloth, grins at his companion. "Yeah, she sent me an email from Tibet – they're going to try climbing Mount Everest next apparently. Something tells me she's going to have a harder time of it than him."

"Have they got separate tents?" The shorter shop assistant's voice is wary to say the least. The other just laughs.

"Is that all you're bothered about?" he asks. "She's your sister and she's trying to climb the biggest mountain in the world with only a hyperactive gymnast for company and all you're worried about is whether they've got two tents?"

"She's my sister, she's with a hyperactive _male_ gymnast alone on one of the coldest and most solitary places on earth, and she gets cold easily. Of course I want to know if they're sharing a tent."

The taller young man's short bark of laughter rings out again. "Don't worry about that. She assured me that they're still 'just good friends', whatever that means." He might have been laughing, but the sarcasm is all but dripping from his voice.

You pick up a couple of books about the museum exhibits and flick through them, but they don't give much more information than the labels you had seen in the rooms. One of them catches your attention, however, with a list of the patrons of the museum: _Hiwatari, Zagart, Siebolt, _and _Balkov,_ as well as four European names that you couldn't even hope to pronounce.

On the opposite page is a collection of pictures of the people who gave significant donations towards the building and upkeep of the place. To your surprise, you recognise many of the faces from the pictures on the walls of the battle records room. What a strange museum this is.

"Just this?" the taller shop assistant asks as you put that book down on the counter and take out your money to pay. "It's a good book."

"I was just thinking that some of the names in here look pretty familiar, but I can't think where from." You point to the list of patrons. "I'm sure I've heard of Siebolt before."

The assistant grins, his big golden eyes softening, and you catch a flash of what couldn't possibly be a tiny fang at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, figures that you'd have heard of them. They were really big in the sporting world until about five years ago. They've put loads of money into sports programs for kids recently, maybe that's how you've heard of them."

You agree, though you're certain that it couldn't just be that. Taking your purchase, you leave the shop and head out into the main lobby of the museum.

The pretty brunette is still at the desk, talking with a young man wearing a baseball cap. He is leaning over the counter, apparently arguing with her about something on her computer screen. She is beginning to look irritated, so you figure that it's probably best to leave before you end up in the middle of a disturbance.

Just then, the tannoy pings again, and the brunette's eyes flick upwards towards the speaker on the wall.

"_Could Mr Masefield please report to Mr Hiwatari's office to discuss certain unauthorised alterations to the records in the Past Battles Room, thank you."_

The young man with the cap bursts out laughing. "What's that? The third time this week?"

The brunette receptionist rolls her eyes. "Fourth. Brooklyn did it twice yesterday. You know, I'm really beginning to think we made a mistake installing the tannoy button in Kai's office..."

"I know," the young man laughs, "But would we have got to hear him singing _Three Blind Mice_ to the cat two days ago when it sat on the tannoy button if we hadn't? Come on, Hil, don't take it away when we get gems like that!"

By the time he finishes his sentence, you have walked past the front desk and out into the sunshine.

Opposite you as you exit is a large white stone with a couple of sentences written in black on it.

_Thank you for visiting the Museum of Beyblading. Please come again!_

* * *

_The Museum of Beyblading is currently holding a survey to see what visitors think of our exhibits and to attempt to improve our customer service. Please take a minute to use the box below to tell us whether you enjoyed your visit, what could have been done to improve it, and what your favourite exhibit was. Thank you!_


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